I Was Going To Marry You
by SciFiobsession
Summary: Aliens, horror, etc. Who would've thought Ianto would be facing death by a completely human disease? Jack needs to find some way to help him out. There's sadness, angst, drama, more to come :) (Fluff too)
1. Chapter 1

There is something insulting about dating someone who can't die, and I know that I chose it, but sitting there in that office being told that I have a year at best left to my life puts a lot in perspective; I am truly not immortal. I watched the doctor's lips move as he asked me if there was anyone he could call to be with me. I shook my head. Jack would have come instantly if called, but I didn't think I could face him. Cancer. Stage four. No signs that gave me any idea. Now I was dying.

I sat alone for a long while. Hospitals have enough heart to not force a dying man out of their rooms, so I was left with whatever time I needed to think. I thought about my past at Torchwood. Four years had passed in a flash. After joining Torchwood three, things just sort of fell into place. If four years passed that quickly, how was one year going to be?

I dialed Jack's number into my phone and let it ring on speaker. I counted four rings before he picked up with a simple "Hey." He didn't know about my appointments, tests, or diagnosis.

"Hey," I replied. I felt my voice already choking up, and I could tell he noticed due to the silence that followed.

"What's wrong?" I could feel his body stiffen through the phone. The average Torchwood "what's wrong?" is traditionally followed by a description of an alien attack or the like. Dying of a 100% earthly disease? It was just insulting.

I didn't respond in time. I hadn't spoken to the doctor or anyone else until that 'hey' and I felt my face get redder. I opened my mouth, but no answer left my lips.

"Where are you?"

"St. David's." I choked out.

"The hospital or the church?"

"Hospital."

"I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

I nodded, forgetting that he wouldn't be able to see a nod through a phone. A pause held, him not yet hanging up and me not speaking. "Room 307," I finally said, hitting the end call button less than a second later.

A nurse opened the door and walked in. He was coming to check on me and see if I needed anything, maybe even just to kick me out. I sat motionless. He walked in front of me and placed a hand on my shoulder. They don't often touch you unless you are dying.

"Mr. Jones, is there anything I can get you?" He asked politely. There must have been a sign now hung on the door; "dying man in here." I was certain they were all out there brooding on how get me to move without hurting me. They had already begun sending people to check up on me.

"Water," I said plainly. My mouth was dry and I felt ill. I _was_ ill, but I felt a different sort of ill. "Please," I followed it seconds later.

"Of course, sir."

He left for what felt like an hour and returned. After what felt like nearly another hour, Jack knocked on the door. I stared at it, wishing some sort of telekinesis would make itself known to me and give me some sort of heroic final year.

He pushed the door open and looked at me. "Shit," he said. He closed the door behind him and walked over to the hospital bed on which I was sat. I must have been a sight; knees still hung over the side, pale as the sterile, paper-thin sheets that were beneath me out of shock and fear. I had seen a lot of horrible things this universe has to offer, but suddenly death scared me.

I lifted my head and looked him dead in the eyes. "Hey." The numb creeping up and down my body lingered a moment longer on my tongue after I spoke the word.

His face was unreadable as I imagine mine was. He searched through my eyes as if he was reading the pages of my life's book. I wished he could read the day's chapter alone so that I wouldn't have to tell him. The only chapter he seemed to read was the one about fear. He searched me for nearly a minute before giving a response. "Hey."

I felt tears forming in my eyes and I turned away from him. I didn't know how to approach him about it. Tears started to fall silently, but he saw them.

"Hey, shhh," he whispered pulling my head to his chest. His left arm rested on my back, and his right hand held my head to him. He was supporting me, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of my head. He held me like that for a short while. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

There have been a lot of moments in my life in which I have wanted to die before I got old. In my late teens, I stopped thinking about it as much. In my early twenties, I was less ready-to-die and more okay with it. Now I sat, twenty-six, and fearing it. When people say life changes, they are not incorrect. I pulled from him and patted the papery sheets beside me. Jack sat slowly. "I have got a year at best, though the last few months will likely be spent in here."

I listened for a response, finding my eyes a safe-haven in toes of my shoes. He remained silent, though I heard him adjust his breathing. It was likely only silent for a few seconds, but it felt as though the whole year passed. "Did you know that less than one percent of the cases of breast cancer diagnosed each year occur in men?" I finally said. "I learned that today." I reached a hand up to wipe the moisture from my face.

"Ianto," Jack whispered. "What about treatment? I can help if it has to do with money."

"Too late, I'm afraid."

I looked up at him finally. His eyes were red and he looked at the floor as I'd been. Our relationship was filled with so much silence. Neither of us bothered to mind it, we just spent a lot of time in silence. Whether it was a situation like this, a dreary night at my apartment or the hub, or even just while taking one another in, we found a sort of solace in quiet. I always had, and Jack had grown to. When you spend so much time without sound, however, you grow to learn the differences between a comfortable and uncomfortable silence. His demeanor changed rather quickly. He became less frantic and calmer.

Jack picked up my hand. I looked at his face, not my hand. He looked at my hand. He traced my fingers with his index finger. "I was going to marry you," he said. My breath hitched hard. "One day, after a long time of brooding on it, maybe over a glass of scotch in my office as we do sometimes after a hard day, I was going to decide the night. I would've taken you to a nice dinner. We'd have sat in a booth against the wall in a corner where few, yet enough people could see us. I'd have asked you then. Between courses, of course." He scoffed a laugh. "Not that the night would have mattered. I'd have married you any night. I just wanted it to be special for you, you know. If I cared the night, I wouldn't have already bought a ring."

"You bought a ring." It was a statement, not a question. My tears had begun to stop. I just listened. It was unlike him. His shove-off of commitment did not match this.

"Of course, I did. I always carried it with me so that when I felt it was the right night- "he trailed off.

"I'm not sure that's keen to make me feel better."

"Yeah," he said. "I just thought you should know."

Silence.

"I don't know if it will make it feel any better, but I intend to make this the best damn year of your life." Jack paused. He had seen so many people he cared about die. I knew that the news scared him just as much as it did me. "Look to the positives." A textbook line.

"I'm glad you'll never see me old."

"It wouldn't have changed things. You being old – I'd still – "He stopped.

"Why are you so afraid of the word love?"

"I'm not afraid of love. I'm afraid of loss. If I love and lose, it hurts more than if I don't."

"Will not saying the word make it hurt you any less?"

"No."

"Then Jesus Christ, Jack. I've got a year left. If you love me, you tell me!" I didn't yell it so much as mean it. While the conversation may have took an un-optimistic turn, he at least had my mind off my worrying temporarily.

I looked down at my hand. My skin still pale against the sheets. "I do. I do love you, Ianto." He'd put the ring on my finger. Silence rang out for a while. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it special for you, Ianto."

"You don't want a dying man."

"I want Ianto Jones; for one year, one hundred years, or a day."

THIS IS GONNA BE A SAD ONE Y'ALL. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.


	2. Pity Proposal

I studied the ring slowly as I sat in the SUV. We had stopped at my flat to pick a few things up before going to the hub. Jack had sent everyone home early. I had just stayed silent the whole time. I twisted the ring slowly back and forth while Jack loaded a bag into the back. Shortly after, he was next to me in the seat.

"I don't think you have said a word since I put that ring on your finger," he remarked. "To be perfectly honest, I'm still hoping for a yes." He looked at me with those damn sparkling eyes and the low up-turn of his lips. A moment of silence passed. "You don't have to respond yet. God knows you have got enough to think about today, but I hope you keep the ring. It suits you."

Another moment of silence passed. I continued to twist the ring whilst staring at it. I did so until I felt like I could positively turn the ring with nothing but the blink of my eyes.

"Of course it is a yes…" I trailed off. There was more to the sentence. It refused to make itself known, however.

"Well I'm very glad to hear that, but if I am left to judge your sincerity based on the way you said that, I'm not sure I trust it." He'd yet to start the engine, just looking at me; once gain trying to read my as though I were a story. "What's going through your head?"

"It's just," I began. I looked up, but not at him. I didn't know how to talk to those eyes. They bore through me; not harshly, just earnestly. "I just always envisioned that I would be the one to propose to someone. When Lisa and I were together, I always pictured how I would propose to her. Maybe we would go to the beach. Maybe we would get ice cream. You know, she loved ice cream. I don't, but she did. I just never, in my whole life expected someone else to do it."

"Ianto, I," he started.

"But you know, that's not just it. Like I don't feel any sort of discomfort with you asking me to marry you. I don't feel emasculated or anything. Like I would marry you if I proposed, you proposed, or neither of us proposed. I just kind of don't understand. You can't honestly look me in the eyes and tell me that you didn't _just_ propose to me because I told you I am dying in one year. Of course I will marry you, Jack, but I honestly feel like it was kind of a just a pity proposal. I'm not too fond of that." I sighed. I sounded pretentious. I hadn't meant for the words to come off quite like they did, but I didn't understand.

A moment went by. The moment was probably only a few seconds, but my anxiousness made me feel as though it was five minutes. I kept looking at and twisting the ring. It was beautiful. It was black stainless steel, all smooth, two thin engraved cuts that wrapped around it. I could see the metal grain in shininess. I knew, by looking at it, that Jack had picked it specifically for me. It was simple, black goes with everything, but it was a statement piece. It was subtly bold.

"Ianto," he finally started. He shifted in his seat, clearly in discomfort. "I'm sorry that I made you feel that way." Another moment of silence passed. "I should have asked you a month ago. I didn't propose to you because of the diagnosis. It just reminded me why it was important to do so." He placed a hand on my knee. "You are not an afterthought to me, Ianto."

I smiled lightly when he said that. I decided to drop my worries at least temporarily. I placed my hand on his and finally looked up at him. "I trust you." I watched him instantly relax just a bit. "Now let's go get something to eat, yeah? I'm starved."

He smiled. "Yeah."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I love the ring."

We drove in silence before reaching a little café just a few kilometers from the plass. I'd never been, but Jack claimed to love their sandwiches. He hopped out of the driver's side door and jogged around the back to get my door. He held it open for me, ducking a little bow as I hopped out. As it was a bit after three, there was hardly any lunch rush, so we were seated right away.

Jack pulled my chair out for me and pushed it closer to the table as I sat. He was clearly making every effort to exercise all of his "gentleman moves." The waiter took our orders and brought us drinks.

I thought about what Jack had said when he informed me that he was going to make this the "best damn year of my whole life." He has two sides. I couldn't tell if he was talking adventure and relaxation or if he was talking sex.

He was talking to me, but I wasn't listening. I watched the way a little dimple formed beside his lips when he said something that amused himself. I watched his hair fall side to side with his bobbing head, knowing full well he had used half a bottle of hair gel just that morning to get the bits separated as they were. I thought about him. He had been around for a long time.

"Jack?"

"Mm?"

"So, I am dying," his chewing slowed as I started with that. "That means that I can ask some of those burning take-this-to-your-grave questions, right? Don't I reserve that right, now?"

He cocked an eyebrow in query. "I suppose." He took a long-drawn sip of his coffee, undoubtedly a stalling mechanism, as I knew full well he's not often fond of a restaurant-brew. "What did you have in mind?"

"How old are you?" I asked it plainly. He claimed to have lived in so many time periods. It was impossible to track.

He laughed a bit, taking a second lengthy sip from his mug, not less hot and more Luke-warm. Have you ever had a cup of tea that is to nearly the same temperature as your body? It is the strangest thing to drink, as it often feels as though there is nothing in your mouth. Room temperature tea reminded me of my mum. She couldn't stand a boiling hot cup, no matter it was tea, coffee, or cocoa.

"Depends."

"I choose to believe that 'depends' is not a viable answer to the question of your age."

"Well it does a bit. I was born in the year 5094. That would make me -3,085 years old if you took it linearly. Time travel skews age." He spoke the last part into a bit of sandwich.

"Well, an estimate then? How many _human_ years, approximately, do you think you have lived for?"

He sat back a moment. He was actually considering my question. "Roughly 400, I'd say. Though I'm not sure. I think I did the seventies a few times – all kind of a blur." I rolled my eyes at the last bit. At least he had said something remotely serious in response. The idea of living past my 20s was not even feasible for me now, yet he had lived near 400 years.

We talked a while longer, trying to move away from the morning's news. The thought of having to tell my sister and Gwen and the others was only in my mind a few times. We spent the afternoon fully enjoying the presence of one another.

Then, the gunshots started.


	3. Void One

I felt my stomach knot up instantly. The feeling of genuinely fearing for your life is not one you're meant to feel many times in your life. I heard the third gunshot and reached out to pull Jack by the sleeve. He had already jumped up, however.

He had his gun drawn. The shooter was not insight, but the sound could be traced to around the corner by the front door. I stood up as well, staying well behind him. I wanted to protect him, but his immortality outranked my rapidly approaching mortality.

Another shot went off, and the shooter came bolting around the corner. Blowfish. It was always a goddamn blowfish with a gun. I Pulled my gun out of my waistband and cocked it. The moment it looked up and noticed us, I took aim to shoot. Before I even had the chance to reach the trigger, the blowfish's gun let out two shots. I immediately fired one back at it, wounding, but not yet killing him.

I'd felt it the moment I heard the gunshot. A bullet entering your body is not really an easily missed sensation. After all, its not just a straight shot in. No, bullets spin. They spin and twist and burn with heat and pull. You can momentarily feel the sensation of your skin being pulled into itself with the bullet, the twisted and torn as it insists its way further into and through your skin. I looked down at my hip where it'd hit. I saw the blood glisten in the reflection of the lights.

I turned to Jack. He'd taken his bullet straight to the head. I watched him lay there, waiting for him to come back. I hated myself for the way it felt normal to look at my dead boyfriend. The blowfish ran back around the corner and out the door. I heard the heavy door make a hard thump against its frame.

My eyes returned to the rapidly throbbing hole in my hip. I was lucky it had only hit my hip. I hoped that Owen would be able to fix it up well enough. In reality, what was the worst that a doctor could tell me? I'll have hip problems in the future? I am only going to be around for a year longer. However, the pain began to sink in a bit for what it was. I could practically tell that the bullet had lodged into my bone. I sank slowly to the ground, watching the blood rapidly squirt out of the hole. My reactions were delayed. If I was going into shock for the second time in one day, I might have still had to worry about my hair greying before I die after all.

I loosened my tie and pulled it off with my left hand, cupping the injury with my right. The tie had cost me £50, and crumping it into a bandage against my bloody mess did nothing but fill me with regret. I'd lost a good pair of pants as well. I hadn't worn a waist coat or jacket that day as I was spending the morning in hospital. However, the tie and the pants together would set me back a bit in my wallet.

I heard Jack come back a few feet away from me. "Ianto!" He scrambled towards me. I could feel the effects of the blood loss; however, I knew that what needed dealing with first was the escaped blowfish. I looked at the spot which once had a bullet hole in his forehead. Years later, the miracle still baffled me.

"He has a head start. He went south." I pointed south and looked up at him again. He was staring at my hip and not moving. "Jack, I'm fine." I paused a second more. "Go!"

He scrambled toward the door, bending down to pick up his gun and then in a steady run. I peeled my tie back from my hip and pulled my trousers down a bit to further inspect the damage. It was deep. I couldn't see the bullet, but could I ever feel it. It hurt like hell. Frankly, it might have bordered on worse. I grabbed my phone to text Owen to get ready for a bullet wound treatment before remembering. I was a dying man before the shot. Nothing was changed. I was only making it a shorter and less expensive trip for myself.

The blood was slowly pooling on the floor. I hated Blowfish. They were vicious and obscene, and to be perfectly frank, they were disturbing to look at. I grabbed a cloth napkin from the table behind me and held it to the hole in my flesh.

When I was six, my parents took Rhiannon and I to an amusement park on a trip to America. I hated them, as they were everything I was not in favor of; they were loud, heavily populated, and had very few exits. However, it was one of the best days of my childhood. It was among the only times my father treated us like normal children. He'd bought me a candy floss. That whole trip was amazing. It was one of the only times I felt distinctly contented in my childhood. I smiled a bit. I was thinking about that day as I sat there, feeling my trousers grow warmer with the spread of blood.

"Ianto!" I finally snapped back to current reality. Jack was down in front of me. He had his hands on my cheeks and was trying to get my attention. Once he saw me look at him and show signs of a response, he tapped his comms. He told Gwen the location to pick up the blowfish; that meant he had found it. Then, he told Owen to prepare for my gunshot wound. I watched him talk. He was stressed out, but he was beautiful. I felt tired, and I watched his fluid motions as he talked. His hair laid in little separated parts, each bouncing a slightly different way as he moved.

"Ianto, we have got to get this bleeding to stop, alright?" He finally said, looking through my eyes and pulling another napkin from a table. I saw a slight manic expression slide across his face, but quickly be wiped away. He was holding my wound, my blood on his hands. "Can you walk? How bad is it?"

I felt dizzy and a bit queasy. Blood never bothered me all that much, but feeling it exit me was a bit nauseating. "It is a bit bad." I moved my toes and foot a little bit. "I don't think I can walk. I'm not all that sure it'd be worth it."

"Okay, we have a gunshot wound kit in the SUV." He stood up and bent to pick me up. He was strong enough to carry me, but it still seemed to be a bit of a struggle for him, between the awkward positioning and the trying to not grab near my hip. As he lifted me, a trail of crimson followed. Heavily stained napkins lay where I once had. My head lolled back weakly. I felt myself growing more and more tired.

He laid me on the back seat and dug around through the available med-kits. He grabbed the one he was looking for; a massive roll of gauze and a ready-to-prep syringe of what I could only guess was a painkiller. His hands moved aggressively to prep the needle on the syringe, though he was less mindful when slammed it against my thigh. "You're going to be alright," he kept repeating.

I smiled wryly in return and took note of the fact that he noticed it instantly. "Jack, the life you are rushing to save is a void one."

"It isn't," he said shortly, closing the door and jumping into the driver's seat. "You're not done yet, Ianto Jones. I can assure you of that."


	4. Illness

Illness

We arrived at the hub after a near silent drive. Jack hopped out of the front. I watched the world swirl. His movements were swift despite the violent spin of the earth. He yanked the door open and reached in. His arms were flexed beneath my weight, and I saw blood on his coat sleeves and could only imagine through my sleepy daze the cost of that dry-cleaning bill.

Jack carried me to the lift. It immediately descended. The trip down likely lasted fifteen seconds; however, it felt like an hour. I watched each individual grain of concrete on the walls slowly ascend pass me on its own. Myfanwy flew by, as she usually did due to the lift's sound. Her wings beat slowly in my vision, and I could trace the pattern of the scaly skin on her stomach. After the extensive journey, the lift hit the ground. Its contact sent sharp pains up and down my body, specifically where Jack's hands and arms supported me. The pressure began to make me ache.

Owen met us at the bottom, already beginning to examine the depth of the wound as he and Jack ran to the bottom of the med bay. I felt cold beneath me. I felt the cold hard metal, followed by the cold of several metallic injections into my veins. I felt the cold of a metallic tool enter my burning wound and pull the burning bullet from my flesh. Owen prepped another injection; a saline bag, I could imagine. I felt incapable of remaining mentally present. Everything around me contradicted one another. The cold of the steel contradicted the burning of my flesh, the frantic face of Owen contradicted the soothing words of Toshiko, and the quiet of the room contradicted the loud, loud sound which radiated from side to side within the relatively small compartment of my head in which my brain was actively screaming.

The world passed this way for quite some while, as I lay there, consciously unmoving. Jack stayed on the balcony of the med bay, his bloodied coat hanging from him in a melancholy manner. Owen started to wrap a large line of gauze around my hips before sticking a final needle beside the wound.

"You got lucky, Ianto," he sighed. I watched him wipe sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. The two of us often struggled to find any sort of commonality; however, he clearly didn't dislike me enough to have turned against treating me; Hippocratic oath, I suppose.

"How so?" I asked, still unmoving.

"You don't have to stay so goddamn still. You're not made of glass, tea boy. You just have to take it easy." He pulled his gloves from his hands. "You lost a lot of blood, but not enough to kill you." I couldn't help but to produce a wry smile in retort. He didn't see it. Jack did.

"Can he walk?" Jack asked, shifting his weight, but still leaning against the railing above us.

"Probably shouldn't for a couple days." Owen turned to look at me. "Why don't you try and get some rest? I know this isn't the most comfortable of places to sleep, but I imagine there are worse."

"Owen, can I have a moment?" Jack asked. He said it almost as though he intended to be secretive about the subject matter. I, of course, knew full well that he intended to tell Owen about my cancer.

The two headed out of the room. I was left alone in silence. There was a soft hum coming from the computer beside me. My head lulled smoothly against the table. I heard Jack's office door close, as it made a click every time. I laid my hand on my chest; the root of my problems and the lead to the situation in which I presently was.

I'd gone to the doctor because of a small lump I had found on the right side of my chest. It had been there for a long time; long enough that I'd hardly thought anything of it. However, it started to hurt more recently. That's when the doctors began to run tests. I stared at the series of injections on Owen's med table. I wondered how many of them it would take to bring this crashing hell of an existence to an end once and for all.

When Jack and Owen returned, they had grave expressions. Owen went to speak. I didn't feel very receptive to another set of condolences for myself, despite the fact that I wasn't dead yet. Perhaps he would make some attempt at mending our non-existent relationship so as to not watch me die with any feeling of guilt. I just nodded at him and quietly said "it's okay, really."

I allowed him to examine the spot on my chest and even to take a few blood samples to have analyzed by a Torchwood system built for the purpose of finding medical solutions. It would take some time, but I allowed him to try. At least that would provide him some sort of feeling of reconciliation.

"Jack, he ought to stay here tonight if that's alright. His wound will be alright, but he ought to stay off that leg for a bit. I am not sure transport would be the best idea."

"I wasn't intending to leave him alone tonight anyway," Jack responded. They spoke about me as if I weren't right there, lying on the table in front of them.

The computer hummed on, the thick melancholy air continued to hang solidly, and Jack continued to inform people in discrete manners, so as to not make me have to do so. I appreciated it, though it made me feel a bit helpless; true as it might have been. I laid there for what felt like hours. I heard each of them leave; except Jack, of course. The hub was empty aside from the two of us, the weevils, and the pterodactyl.

I heard his footsteps near the med bay. I didn't turn at all. The day's events had been a mixture of too painful to bear, and incredible embarrassment. I kept my eyes closed for just a minute longer, going so far as to hold my breath.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

"The shots dulled the pain," I responded plainly. "It feels embarrassing to have had this all happen."

He descended the steps and walked to the side of the table. "Please don't feel embarrassment." He put his hand in mine. "You're stronger than any of us here."

I snorted. Even he knew that wasn't true. He was immortal. He was literally the epitome of strength because of that. "Owen said I ought to rest. You should as well. Would you mind getting me a blanket?"

"You don't expect me to let you sleep on a metal table, do you?" he asked coyly.

"I don't expect you to have me bloody up your sheets with my gunshot wound, Jack." He had heard me, but he still leant down, put an arm underneath my knees and the other beneath my shoulder blades.

He carried me across the hub and to his bed. The transfer was odd, as his bed was beneath the floor of his office, but I appreciated the warmth of the sheets. I knew full well that there were more sleeping quarters in the hub than just this one; however, this was the only place Jack ever slept. His arms laid me softly on the bed, and he was quick to fix the pillow beneath my neck.

"Thank you," I whispered. There was no one around to hear me say anything, but the air of the room led me to whisper anyways.

"Please don't thank me. I'm sorry you ended up in this situation in the first place." He was still leant over me, his hands resting on the blanket he had pulled over me. "You should get some sleep, Ianto." He went to stand up straight.

I reached my arm out and grabbed him by the collar. He froze. My mind was whirling from both the day's events and the massive amounts of painkillers. I pulled him down to me and let my lips against his. His face was stubbled, and I felt every inch of it. Every time I kissed him, I felt like I was being kissed for the first time. He indulged himself in me for a moment before pulling back.

He looked at me with care in his eyes, pushing the strands of hair away from my forehead. "You really ought to get some sleep, Ianto," he repeated. I felt his warm breath on my face.

"Are you honestly going to deny a dying man a kiss, Jack?" I asked. My head swirled more and more. If there was one thing on which I could honestly focus, it was that I wanted Jack.

He smiled at me. "Ianto, you were shot today."

"So were you. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he responded quizzically.

"And so am I," I whispered.

Jack maneuvered himself around the bed and climbed in on the opposite side. He straddled my waist so as to not put any pressure on my hips. He reached down and kissed me softly. I could taste his breath and could smell him, from his shampoo to the laundry detergent in which his shirts were washed. He broke away for just a second. "Are you sure you are feeling alright?"

"Yes," I whispered. I didn't have to ask how he was feeling this time.

He smiled that smile and brought it down to my neck. He worked his way down the side of my neck, across the bottom of my neck, and up my throat, hesitating slightly and resting on my collar bone. Usually, he acted quickly and lustfully, but in that moment, I could tell that he knew what I needed. His kisses mad me feel safe and warm.

He held me the whole night, kissing me and telling me that he would take care of me.


	5. I Woke Up

I woke up in my own bed, rolled over, and hit the snooze button. The damn alarm was the bane of my existence. It's morning 5:00 scream was loud enough to make me jump every time. I felt tired and slow as I walked through my flat; progressively working to get ready. My hip was healing rather quickly, but the more time I waited for it to be healed, the less time I had left to my life.

I put some socks on. I always kept socks in the drawer in the table next to my bed. The wood floors of my flat are incredibly cold in early morning, and I usually can't bear walking on them barefooted. I walked out of my bedroom and across to the kitchen to put on the kettle before going to the mirror. I shaved, noticing the fact that the hair which was growing was thick and greying. I was twenty-six with a now greying beard.

I was continuing my morning routine thoughtlessly until I was dressed and looking in the mirror once more. It had been a few weeks and my clothes were already beginning to hang. I pulled at them a bit in curiosity. I had already had to begin tightening my belt an extra loop. I hadn't felt much like I'd been eating less, but I looked thin. Even my cheeks looked slightly hollower than usual. I prayed no one would pay much mind to it as I poured and swallowed my morning tea. I'd always take two cups black in the morning, a third at tea around 2, and two more in the afternoon unless I had scotch.

My phone buzzed on my side table. It was a message from Jack. He never texted me before the diagnosis, but since then, it was incredibly frequent. It read its usual "Good morning, how are you feeling?"

"A bit tired – be in in 35," I responded, tossing the phone in my pocket. I looked in the mirror again, opened the cabinet, and took my six prescribed medications; three types of heavy vitamins, two non-contradictory pain relievers, and one antidepressant.

I walked out the door and closed it quietly. I heard some noise coming from behind one of my neighbors' doors. It was a family of five; parents and three kids. They were truly lovely people, and though we never really talked, they would always exchange pleasantries with me in the mornings as we passed each other.

When I got to the hub, I walked straight for the coffee maker. I was two teas in but had yet to get the whole of my caffeine fix. I heard Owen in the med bay, likely having come in early to work on the body that was brought in the night before. Jack's office door was closed, which usually meant he was inside, but I knew he would be down shortly. He'd grown protective since my diagnosis and had to ask me how I was near eight times a day. 'Dying' was never well received.

I filled two cups and took one to Owen. I handed it to him silently. He took it and gave me a soft smile. I decided that I didn't want to leave this world with our negative relationship. I didn't necessarily want a friendship, but the hatred was getting old. I'd bring him coffee in the mornings and he would sneak me more pain meds. I walked back to the counter where I'd set my cup. I was facing it when I suddenly sensed a presence behind me.

"Morning," Jack said, wrapping his arms around my waist and setting his chin on my shoulder.

I smiled. "Good morning," I said, turning around slightly and kissing him. He held onto my waist for a moment and kissed me before pulling back and taking a sip of my coffee.

"I have to talk to you," he said, still smiling.

"Oh yeah?"

He set the coffee aside. "Yeah, I have something to show you."

"What's that?"

"Just come see," he pleaded. I followed him to his office, the smell of sulfur wafting up through the vents. I wondered the source of the smell.

Once in his office, I took note of the papers on his desk. They didn't look like work, and by further analyzation of his condition, I wondered if Jack had fallen asleep right there on his desk. His face was ecstatic and he had me curious.

"Look," he began. He was beaming but moving anxiously. He began to rifle through the papers. "I know we don't always have the same style choice, but I thought a lot of these could kind of be a compromise." He handed me three papers. "I just want it to be beautiful."

I looked down at the papers. They were each print outs of different event halls. One was themed in a more modern fashion, one was gothic, and one was very traditional and elegant. They were all gorgeous and incredibly expensive. "What are these?"

"They're event halls," he said, quietly and nervously. "They're wedding halls."

I smiled at him. "Jack."

"I just, I mean, I just want you to know that I'm serious, and if you'd want, I want to get married soon, and I want it to be perfect and you to be happy." I had never seen him so frantic. His typical suave and flirtatious manner was absent. "I know you like the elegant gothic places, but I also know you're very into what is modern, and I just thought that maybe some of these places would be ideal. The money doesn't bother me, and we can have some time away from here, and we could go on a vacation, or we could just stay here."

I was still smiling. "Jack."

"And if you don't like any of these places, that is totally okay, I was just going through a few places I have connections with. We can look outside the UK too, we could go to America."

"Jack."

"What?"

"I like this one," I said, holding up the modern hall. "It's perfect."

He took a second of silence before producing any sort of a response. "Yeah?" He asked, finally stopping his pacing and looking at me.

"Yeah," I said, setting the rest down and walking around his desk to him. "Thank you." I kissed him on the cheek. "I'm glad you are serious. I can't keep just being a quick shag every now and then."

He pulled me close to him and hugged me. "I am." He pulled away from the hug and kissed my cheek. "But is there really anything wrong with a quick shag now and then?"

"I suppose not," I said with a smirk.

"Good." He hovered his lips in front of mine. He knew the way the suspense killed me. It took a moment, but he finally kissed me hard.

He pushed me up against his desk, knocking paperwork off the edge. I knew I would likely be picking it up later, but I didn't care in the moment. I grabbed his collar and pulled him against me. My hands pulled at the buttons on his shirt, and he helped me peel it off. I'd shaken my jacket and waist-coat off and was pulling at my tie between kisses. Before long, we were no more than skin against skin.

I could feel him against every inch of me. His hands knew me more than I knew myself. Without really parting for more than a moment, Jack pulled us into his bunker. He physically indulged himself in me.

"Ianto," he whispered.

"Jack," I responded, assuming he just wanted me to use his name,

"I love you," he said, his face on mine. "Oh god do I love you."

I rubbed my hand up and down his stomach as me held me, loving me. "I love you too, Jack," I said. My face was flush red and my body was sweaty. I was growing weaker and thinner as time passed and my death neared, but I felt so alive for just one moment.


	6. A Few Days Later

A few days later.

After multiple reports of Weevil sightings near Mermaid Quay, the team and I had set out to track down, take in, and relocate. We had split up into groups; Jack and Tosh, and me and Owen. Gwen was back at the hub working on some paperwork for U.N.I.T. The reports claimed there was at least one spotted near the water at the Quay. It was approximately 9:45pm.

"I heard something," I whispered to Owen. "Left, about 100 metres."

"Okay," he responded, as we started pursuing the area.

The moon was shimmering over the bay, its light hanging on the quiet waves that washed in with the coolness of the night. The quay was relatively quiet as most tourists and market-goers had gone home for the night. Only a few couples out for late-night strolls remained, just far enough away for us to be out of sight. In summer, the quay is often livelier at this hour, but a week night at this time of year often has no such result.

In the low light, I saw a Weevil dart out in front of us and take off running. "There!" I yelled, as Owen and I took off running. I can distinctly remember the sound of his jacket rubbing against itself as he ran. It was new, his jacket. New leather has a particular sound to it; one which I have always found quite pleasant. I remember watching him draw his gun. Weevils aren't easily killed by gunshot, rather subdued.

Owen was a bit ahead of me. I had found it a bit more difficult to catch my breath as of late, and usually took up the tail-end in a chase. He shot the weevil and it fell, letting out a moan as it went. It was still a good 20 metres away from us. Owen jogged up to it and knelt down to detain it. I pushed myself to a run to catch up. I could hear Tosh and Jack far away behind us.

My foot hit a crack in the pavement and I tripped. I stuck my arm out to catch myself from hitting my head against the ground. The sound was prominent; a crack. I rolled from my front to my back. "Ah shit," I groaned. I could feel my arm broken. I hadn't hit it hard against the ground, but the cancer had my bones already compromised. I grabbed the limp limb and held it against my chest.

Owen had seen me fall and got up from his position on the ground. He knelt down next to me and started looking at my arm. "You alright, Ianto?" He asked, not intending for me to answer, based on the look on his face as he inspected it. He grabbed at the med pack on his back and started to prep a needle of some sort of general pain killer to shoot into my arm. "You hit it pretty good, Ian-"

"OWEN!" Jack yelled, still at a distance, but close enough to hear his and Tosh's footsteps. We both turned to face him, not seeing that the Weevil who'd been shot had gotten up. Jack shot at it, but not before it took a swift claw across Owen's face, barely missing his eye, but leaving deep cuts.

He grabbed his face and let out a yell, fresh blood already beginning to empty from the wounds, dripping into his eyes and falling to the ground. "Oh god, Owen," I gasped, trying to reach his med bay while still nursing my arm. I grabbed the needle from his hand and stabbed it into my arm before grabbing a second from him. I stuck it into his leg and found some gauze. Jack and Tosh finally reached us.

Tosh worked on subduing and detaining the weevil while Jack grabbed the gauze from my hand and started to try to stop Owen's bleeding. "We have got to get you to the hospital," Jack said to him, clearing the blood from around Owen's eyes so he could see.

"I'm a doctor, I don't need to go to the hospital, just get me back to the hub," he fought. It was a pointless battle. Jack and Tosh got the two of us to the SUV and drove us to St. David's. The SUV hit a bump in the road and I felt my brittle bones threaten to break further. Owen was groaning beside me, his face covered by the bottom of his T-shirt. His hands were coated in blood, and I could tell that the scratches would leave sizable scars.

"We need some help," Tosh called, entering the A&E ward of the hospital. "There's been a dog attack."

Owen was rushed off into a room, as he was still bleeding out. I was sat and set on a waiting list to be called in when they were available. Tosh followed with Owen, and Jack sat down beside me in the waiting room.

"Bet its been a while since you've had to come to one of these," I said to him.

"Yeah, you could say that. Benefits of immortality, I suppose." He leaned forward in the chair, his fingertips together. "Are you okay?"

"I think you ought to take me out of field work." I shifted my limp arm with my good one.

"I thought you loved field work," he responded.

"I'm becoming more trouble than I am worth. The cancer has me weak, Jack. I fell and Owen got hurt because of me. You know that just as well as I do. My body is weak and I'm declining quickly.

"Ianto, Owen will be fine. You don't know that you-"

"I know what it feels like to wake up with less and less energy every morning, Jack." I sighed. "I'm not happy about it, but maybe I should just find something to do in the hub. I could go back to paperwork and coffee, and-"

"You weren't happy doing that." He said it plainly It was true. I'd spent all that time trying to muster up the courage to tell him that I wanted more than that, so taking it away would hurt.

Silence passed between us. Nurses came out into the waiting room and called for individuals higher than me on the list. My arm throbbed, but the pain medicine was helping to keep me calm. I wondered how Owen was doing. I couldn't keep my mind off of blaming myself for his getting hurt.

"Let's take a trip somewhere," Jack said beside me.

I nearly laughed a bit. "A trip?" He and I had hardly been out together, let alone on holiday. I couldn't think of the last time I had taken leave from work or gone anywhere outside the city. My life was centered around Torchwood.

"Yeah, let's go somewhere."

"I'm too close to death to talk about dreams, Jack."

"I'm serious. I'm not talking about a dream. Let's do it all. We can go somewhere, get married, relax." He turned to face me a bit more and put his hand on my knee. "Ianto I haven't gone anywhere for leisure in far too long. You could use the rest and I could use a getaway."

"Do you really think we could get away from it?"

"I'm the boss, aren't I?" he queried with a grin.

"I can't fight you there."

We passed another moment in silence. "Ianto, I have been endlessly trying to contact my doctor to find something to help you. If I knew how to better reach him, I would do so in a heartbeat." He played mindlessly with his wrist strap.

"I know, Jack. It's okay."

"Owen is still running some studies," he said.

"I'm content at this moment, Jack. I would love a holiday, though."

A nurse appeared in the hallway of the waiting room. She looked tired and worn and seemed to breathe for a moment before calling my name. She led us down the hall to a hospital room.


	7. Aftermath

I'd not needed surgery to fix my arm. The doctor told me that it could have been significantly worse based on my cancer's progression. For now, it was casted. I was told to return in X amount of time, but I knew that I would be leaving the rest up to Owen. I just hoped he was alright too.

Jack came and got me and told me where Owen's room was.

"Is it bad?" I asked.

"He'll be fine," he said, filling a coffee from the coffee maker. We had stopped on our way to his room. I watched him take a sip and sneer. His long life made him particular about how he liked things. His coffee was no exception.

I filled a cup as well. Between the time in the waiting room, wait time once I was taken to a room, and my actual time with the A&E doctor, it was nearly 2:00 in the morning. I caught a glimpse of myself in my reflection in the window. I'd taken off everything except my undershirt and trousers, as the rest had been covered in dirt and Owen's blood. My face looked grave and tired. My casted arm reminded me of when I was younger. My father had broken my arm on a playground when I was young.

We walked in silence the rest of the way to Owen's room. The halls were filled with the soft hum of machines and the light beeping of monitors. I felt my stomach knot up outside his door. It was my fault entirely. I'd seen the blood quickly begin to pour from his face. We quietly entered his room, not sure whether we'd find him awake or asleep.

"All I'm saying, Tosh, is that the worst part of being in hospital is not having any pants. I want my bloody pants." He was quite awake, sitting up in the bed, donning a white hospital gown. His face was turned toward Tosh, so I couldn't see anything, but there was certainly no blood on the sterility that was his gown and sheets. He was hooked by a hand to a poled bag of fluids.

"And bloody is what they are, so just relax," Tosh responded in jest.

Owen had yet to notice us, so Jack tapped lightly on the wall. "May we come in?"

Owen finally turned to face us. I took in the sight of his injury for the first time after seeing it happen. He had four long freshly sutured cuts across his face. Each was likely about three and a half inches in length, and one had just barely missed his eye. The stitches were clean, but there was light bruising around each line. I knew they would scar, as the cuts had looked deep to start. I began to apologize to him, but he shrugged it off, claiming that I was not at fault. It helped me to feel a bit more at ease, but not much of the guilt was gone.

"How's the arm?" He asked.

"A bit immobile at the moment."

"They give you anything for the pain?"

"All they ever give me is for the pain, but the stuff you give me is usually the only one to actually make a difference."

"Yeh, well, Hippocratic Oath, right?" He gave me a short smile before turning his attention. "Jack, want to do me a favor and get me out of here? They're keeping me on surveillance for rabies."

"I'll see what I can do," Jack said, turning to walk out.

Owen got up to use the restroom, leaving Tosh and I alone. I sat in a chair to the right of the bed.

"Not our best Weevil hunt, hm?" I said. She laughed a short, breathy laugh; the kind you give someone when you want them to feel appreciated even though the joke was not funny to you.

"How are you doing, Ianto?" She asked, pulling the attention on me.

"You should be asking the man with the sutures," I responded.

"I'm not, though. I'm asking you. I just want to make sure you're holding on alright." She paused, choosing her words carefully, but not overly carefully. "You should be spending these moments doing all the things you love; all the things that make you happy."

"Yeah," I responded quietly. A moment of silence passed and I wondered if she regretted saying what she had said. "Jack says he's going to take me on holiday somewhere."

"Yeah?" She asked. She smiled at me, attempting to be suggestive.

"Yeah," I responded.

"And how do you feel about that idea?"

I was playing with the hem of my shirt mindlessly. "I don't know," I started. "It would be nice, I've just never went away before."

"I think it would be nice for you. You two can have some time alone…" I gave her 10,000 points for effort. She was always filled with effort and well intentions, and while I wouldn't necessarily say that her and my relationship ever reached the status of friendship, she was quite possibly the least intimidating to talk to in my life. Everyone has their judgements and their opinions and their remedies, but Tosh is like me. She feels broken, alone, and knows she did a hell of a lot wrong in her life.

"Is it ever truly possible to "get away" from Torchwood?" I asked, quietly as though I did not want to upset the steady rhythm of the beeps from the machines in the room.

"Maybe not," she said, smiling again. "But you could sure try."

Owen returned and laid back down on his bed, separating us. He reached for the TV remote.

"Thanks, Tosh." I finished, starting to get up to go find Jack.

"Ianto, you're going to let me take a look at that arm when we get back to the hub, yeah?" Owen called.

"Of course, you're the doctor."

Moments later, after a series of Torchwood access codes, a call to UNIT, and a little bit of time, Jack returned with the news that Owen was released. A nurse came in to check on him one more time and to advise him that it was not a good idea, but Owen's cockiness drove him straight out to the SUV.

Upon arrival at the hub, I allowed Owen to take me down to the med bay in order to examine me. He talked about t for longer than I listened before recasting it and telling me to ice it. Despite the how thorough he seemed to me, he would have been undoubtedly more thorough had he not been in a great deal of pain himself. I watched him take a multitude of pain killers before packing up his things to go home.

The hub fell silent in a matter of moments. Owen, Tosh, and Gwen, all were returning to their respective flats. I suddenly craved the morose comfort that came with my own flat. With a Torchwood salary and not much to do, I had spent much of my money between decorating and funds for my niece and nephew. I decided to go home, rather than spend another night at the hub with Jack.

I walked to Jack's office, being lulled by the soft hum from some machine in the centre of the hub. I quietly knocked on the door with the back of my knuckles while I stood in the door way. He was at his desk, already filing some medical cost transfers for UNIT after the night's events. The room was tidier than I remembered having left it.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he responded, straightening up in his seat.

"I'm going to head home, alright? I'm kind of incredibly tired." Tired was an understatement. My knees felt weak and my chest felt heavy. I felt like I could collapse at any point and prayed that it would be on my bed.

"Okay," he responded. "Are you feeling alright?"

I approached his desk and leaned against it. "Based of tonight's events, I think I just need some rest."

"Okay, well why don't you come in late tomorrow?"

"Okay," I responded. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, Jack." I stood up and started to walk.

"Goodnight, Ianto," he responded.

I walked to the door before turning again. "By the way, it's a yes," I called back at him. "On the time away."

I turned again and walked out the door. I drove home in silence before nearly stumbling into my flat. I fell onto my bed, narrowly avoiding hitting my arm as I went. I slept instantly.


	8. Holiday

A few weeks went by, my arm healing quickly under Owen's intense care. Every few days or so, he would find some new test to run on me from some old alien book from god knows what planet in order to cure me. Every test would yield the same results; none. I appreciated his trying, but after the third-or-so, I began only doing it for his sake; not mine. I knew my fate, yet I seemed to be the only one who did.

"You almost ready, Ianto?" Jack asked from a few feet behind me.

I closed the suitcase on my bed and started to zip it. "Yeah, I think." I had somehow, and quite madly I might add, allowed him to book us a trip. He'd offered me the entirety of time and space, a million colonies on a billion planet, but I had quite promptly told him Los Angeles, California, America, Earth, this time. It had been on my invisible "bucket list" for years. This was the time to tick those things off.

Jack had been to my flat before, a series of times, in fact. However, he had never been over in a situation quite like this one. I watched his eyes quietly graze over the décor and the color of the walls. He stopped them on an old Christmas card that laid on the table across the room from my bed. My sister and her family sent one every year. They were the only cards I always kept.

He picked it up. "I don't suppose you'd let me meet them, hm?" He turned to face me. "Your family." He looked at it again and then back at me. "Mica's what, six, now? I can see your eyes in her."

"It's Rhiannon," I started. "She'd ask too many questions." I paused. "About Torchwood."

He looked at me. "About me," he said. "She's your sister, Ianto, she can't help her curiosity." He pointed the card at me. "She cares about you."

"Yeah, well, some things are a bit more personal, you know?" I took a moment again. "Besides, you're not one to talk. Introduce me to your daughter and your grandson and then we will talk about my sister. I'm about to become the legal step-father of someone I've yet to meet, you know?"

"You want to meet Alice?"

"Of course, I do."

"I'll see what I can do." He set the card down carefully in its original location. "Are you ready to go, now?" He walked over and started to help me zip the bag shut. "Do you have all of your meds?" I nodded. "Medical insurance cards from UNIT?" I nodded again. "Extra pillow?"

"Yes."

"A dashing captain who can't wait to go on vacation with you?"

"Bloody hell I can't lose that one," I said with a smile. I was marrying him at some point in the next few days. We'd forgotten the halls, knowing full-well that we didn't want to invite anyone anyways. Jack pulled me against him with one arm and kissed the top of my head.

"Come on, sun's waiting on us." He pulled my bag down from the bed and carried it to the front door where his was sat.

We took my car to Cardiff Airport, at which I was informed that Jack had gone and gotten us a private plane from UNIT. If I'd ever give a fight, it wasn't to be that day. I was completely fine with the spacious plane, complete with couches and the only other passenger I really cared to share it with.

As the plane took off, Jack ordered us drinks. I was perfectly fine with spending the remainder of my days on a private plane, with Jack, sipping margaritas. He sat beside me and I curled up against him.

"So," I began, looking up at him. "Los Angeles. Does this mean I'm going to see my captain walking around in board shorts?"

He cracked a smile. "You may just have to wait and see about that. I'm not sure they'll go with the coat."

"Hell no, if you expect to see me in a pool or at a beach at any point on this trip, you're going to have to lose the coat for a while."

"I thought you liked the coat," he retorted.

"I do, but not in the heat and on the beach. Plus, I'd reckon the both of us are so low on vitamin D that we are practically lost causes when it comes to a tan." I sipped at my margarita and looked out the window across from us.

The flight was long, and under practically any other circumstances, I would have been exhausted. However, I slept throughout the majority of it. We watched a movie at one point, talked for a couple hours, and made out on the couch for another. Not a bad day, if I may say so.

When we landed, it was the middle of the night for us, but just late afternoon for California. We went out to dinner at a little local diner before Jack presented me with my final surprise of the night; the hotel. I knew he would have something up his sleeve for it, but the hotel which we entered was stunning.

The hotel was directly on the beach. The rooms were lavish and the stay included a poolside cabana-like tent in which there was a beach bed and service from their open bar. The beach had gorgeous golden sand and was private. The water was like glass; much different from that which we saw on the coast of Cardiff. The sun shone here, practically all the time. The entire place gave off the sensation of happiness and warmth; two things of which I was in desperate need.

As if the private pool and beach weren't enough, the room Jack had booked had a jacuzzi. Jack said he thought it would be good for me and that it would stimulate blood-flow. I knew the real reason, and I was completely okay with it.


End file.
